“Captain Anderson, what did my uncle do down here? I suppose he raised oranges.”
“Your uncle was a peculiar man,” answered the captain. “I liked him. But I never could understand why a good lawyer should bury himself in the wilderness.”
“Father says he used to be a fine lawyer,” commented the boy, “but his health failed.”
“And like a lot more such people,” added Captain Anderson, “he got to livin’ alone and bein’ so much alone, he got sort o’ peculiar.”
“One could tell that from his letters, when we got any,” interrupted Mrs. Leighton. “He used to write about some invention on which he was working.”
“An engine,” broke in Andy. “Father told me my uncle thought he had an engine that was to do wonderful things. Did it work?”
“Oh, his engine worked all right,” answered Captain Joe soberly. “There wasn’t any trouble about that. That wasn’t his real weakness. He made engines that’d work just as long as he ran ’em like other people, with steam or gasoline. But steam and gasoline didn’t suit him. He was lookin’ for some other kind o’ power; something cheap and light—calcium something I think it was.”
“Gas from calcium carbide?” suggested Andy impulsively.
“Yes, that’s it—calcium carbide,” went on Captain Joe, “though I never took any stock in it and never paid much attention to it. He said when he got his generator finished, he’d be able to carry his power in a little tube.”
“And did he?” persisted Andy, pushing forward. “Did he finish his generator?”